


Haven

by orphan_account



Series: Falling Differently [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-27
Updated: 2013-07-27
Packaged: 2017-12-21 13:26:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/900818
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Careful with this,” Stiles warns as he slides the straps down into Derek’s ready hold. “There’s several different strains of wolfsbane, mistletoe, and a ton of mountain ash in the front pouch, and the bottles they’re in are made of glass.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Haven

Alpha Hale opens her mouth in a quickly aborted bid to speak. Her eyes slide away from Stiles, and her head turns slightly up and away. “We can continue this discussion once we are out of the woods,” she says after a handful of tense moments, turning her gaze back upon the self-proclaimed emissary. “Derek, take his bag. We need to move quickly.” She looks at the babe in Stiles’s arms, sees the way he clutches his burden even tighter; she decides not to ask Cora to take Isaac away.  
  
Her eldest son walks toward Stiles, his hands raised to take the dilapidated backpack from his shoulders. “Careful with this,” Stiles warns as he slides the straps down into Derek’s ready hold. “There’s several different strains of wolfsbane, mistletoe, and a ton of mountain ash in the front pouch, and the bottles they’re in are made of glass.”  
  
Sending him an incredulous glare, Derek forgoes putting the backpack over his own shoulders, instead cradling it carefully in his arms.  
  
“What?” Stiles asks defensively. “Some werewolves aren’t as friendly as others, and sometimes my own pack gets-” he pauses, his face looking stricken. “Got,” he says, voice flat. “Got injured. We were located just outside of Los Angeles, which brought a lot of hunters through our territory.”  
  
“Boys,” Talia interrupts, putting a hint of alpha steel behind the word. They look away from each other and realize that the others have already started moving back the way they came. Without another word, they begin to trudge after them.  
  
At this point, Stiles is fairly certain that his feet are moving of their own accord, his mind too fatigued to do anything so complicated as giving his body orders. He hasn’t slept in over forty-eight hours, even though he pulled into an old motel on the outskirts of Tulsa to lay low for a day, hoping to throw the hunters off their trail. They found him after a little over a day, though, and he barely made it out of the motel. He hadn’t even been able check out of the room he and Isaac had holed up in. Good thing he used his fake ID and paid in cash, he supposes.  
  
The whistling sound comes to his ears as though through water, and he turns his head slowly, narrowly missing being clipped in the head by the fist which he sees is now wrapped around the shaft of an arrow. He looks at Derek in muted shock. The beta is already snapping the arrow in half and throwing it away. He then shrugs the backpack onto his shoulders, apparently over his previous misgivings. Stiles has no idea why Derek then turns to him with a determined set to his lips and eyebrows, but then he is being scooped up, Isaac and all, and they are flying through the forest at a pace no human could manage, using the cover of the trees to block any further incoming arrows.  
  
Perhaps if they weren’t literally running for their lives, Stiles would be worried about his rapidly diminishing dignity. As it is, he merely closes his eyes and hopes that they make it wherever they are going.  
  
Finally, Derek begins to slow, and Stiles opens his eyes to see a door standing wide open, waiting for them a few paces ahead. Derek glances behind them and then lowers Stiles gently to the ground before ushering the emissary into the welcoming light of the Hale house.  
  
As soon as Stiles and Derek are safely inside, the beta turns and slams the door shut, locking it behind him. The unexpected noise startles Isaac, and he lets out a quavering wail. On autopilot after days of being on the run with him, Stiles makes low, soothing sounds, bouncing and swaying shallowly in the way that never fails to calm the baby down. The motion jars his injured leg, but he ignores the pain, putting his charge’s comfort first.  
  
When Stiles raises an eyebrow at Derek, he has the grace to look somewhat abashed. Easily appeased, Stiles sends him a small smile. “Thanks for getting us out of there, man. For a moment there, I thought - well, anyway. Thanks.”  
  
Nodding, Derek tells him, “Sure.” The beta takes Stiles in under the warm yellow light illuminating the entryway, for some reason finding it difficult to do anything else.  
  
Then, Talia Hale clears her throat, and the two of them look away from each other, startled by the reminder that they are not alone. Behind her, the rest of the Hale pack looks on, some appearing amused, others simply tired and impatient.  
  
Stiles feels a wave of guilt wash over him. He does realize that his arrival most likely derailed any and all attempts this pack were probably making to get a good night’s sleep, but there was no way he and Isaac would have made it to tomorrow if Stiles had held off coming here.  
  
Though he feels ready to collapse where he stands, when Talia tells him, “I think it’s time for you to tell us what happened,” all he can do is sigh and nod.  
  
“No, yeah, of course. But do you mind if I sit down first? This little guy may only be three months old, but he’s pretty solid.”  
  
At this, Stiles is led into the living room and settled on the couch. He relaxes back into the cushions with a relieved sigh, though he is careful not to lean his head far enough against it to reveal his neck. As much as he needs whatever help the Hales are willing to provide, he does not know them. A pillow is placed between his arm and the arm of the couch, allowing him to loosen his hold on Isaac. Peering up, Stiles registers Derek’s presence blearily and murmers his thanks.  
  
In lieu of saying, “You’re welcome,” Derek tells him, “I’ll go get something to take care of that cut on your leg.”  
  
“Hmm,” Stiles sighs in response, sensing it as Derek moves away. When did his eyes close, he wonders? The question slips away as a Stiles himself slips into slumber. It feels safe here.  
  
Everything else can wait.


End file.
